


After Midnight

by AconitumNapellus



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconitumNapellus/pseuds/AconitumNapellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the ship's labs Spock compliments Christine on her hands. A vignette written for the Spock/Chapel facebook group. The rules - Story need not be longer than two pages unless you really really want it to be. Must contain somewhere, somehow the following two lines of dialogue: Spock must say: "I did not say that." Christine must say: "You didn't deny it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Midnight

It was late in the lab. In fact, it was _very_ late. Had Christine been working with any other officer she would have pleaded exhaustion and left for her quarters long before now. Hell, she hadn’t even had dinner yet – and she was pretty sure she’d missed lunch. That was how tired she was. She laughed a little at herself for that. She had been working so hard she could not even remember if she had eaten lunch.

But Christine was working alongside Spock, and there was almost no incentive in the world that would make her give up before the task was completed. This antigen was important. Spock was a brilliant scientist, more qualified for this task even than McCoy – but Spock was not a biochemist, and she was. He deemed her insight invaluable to the process, and she would not let him down. And since Spock would work ceaselessly until the antigen was perfected, she supposed she would have to do so with him.

She sucked up a small amount of fluid into the pipette she held and dripped it onto the litmus paper, watching the colour of bruises blooming out from apparently colourless liquid.

‘The pH level is too high,’ Spock’s voice said close to her shoulder.

She started, and inadvertently squirted a jet of the solution across the table. Without realising it she had begun to sink into a stupor, fading into that warm, irresistible, dreamy state that was halfway to sleep.

Spock’s hand closed about hers, startlingly warm against her fingers, and she almost gasped. Then she realised that he was removing the pipette from her hand, and she jerked her fingers open reflexively.

She stared stupidly at the table, at the deep line that was being eaten into the surface and the curious white vapour that was rising into the air, and then came back to her senses, and said confusedly, ‘Oh, a cloth – I should get that – ’

Again those hot, strong fingers touched her, this time closing about her wrist.

‘Miss Chapel, were you to touch that with a regular cleaning cloth you would surely remove the epidermis from your fingers – and you would not want to damage such exquisitely proficient appendages.’

She blinked, turning and staring at him. She had not realised quite how tired she had become until now. _Exquisitely proficient appendages…_ Now just what did that mean?

She stood and watched as Spock fetched the proper hazard control equipment and removed the line of acid from the table. He dropped the soiled cloths and gloves into the disposal, and then turned to her.

‘Take a seat, Miss Chapel,’ he said, nodding towards a nearby chair. ‘I will stow this equipment. We have done enough for today.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I could manage – ’ she began.

‘Exhaustion does not profit the experiment,’ Spock said firmly. ‘It will be better to resume tomorrow. But now – ’

He looked at her critically, and she lifted her eyes to him, feeling curiously vulnerable in her sleep-addled state.

‘Ordinarily I would recommend coffee,’ Spock said, ‘but it is a little late. I have a particular Vulcan beverage in my cabin – it should restore energy without damaging your ability to sleep.’

She regarded him slowly, wondering if she was too tired to make sense of what he was saying. Was he inviting her to his cabin?

‘I could also order food from the mess,’ Spock was continuing.

She blinked. A drink _and_ dinner? In Spock’s quarters?

And then she recalled herself, and said, ‘Oh – yes, that – sounds very nice, Mr Spock. I should – ’

She looked about herself, then realised that Spock had done all of the tidying as he was talking. There was nothing to do but get to her feet and succumb to his will.

******

Spock’s cabin was hot… She had known that it was hot – it was the only place on the ship where Spock could enjoy a temperature close to that of Vulcan – but in her exhausted state the heat and the thick red fabric about the walls opposite her were conspiring to send her to sleep.

She sat at Spock’s desk, her eyes only half-focussed, taking in the deep red of the drapes and the glimpses of ornaments and weapons on his walls through the filigree partition behind Spock’s back. She was eating, slowly, but her mind was more focussed on half-dreaming thoughts of being on the other side of that partition, with Spock in less than his full regulation uniform. Spock had barely touched his food. He was sipping his drink, but otherwise he was simply sitting and regarding her with his unfaltering gaze.

And suddenly it came to her, and she sat upright, her eyes widening.

‘You said I had nice hands!’

Spock looked discomforted. She knew that with his phenomenal memory he must know exactly to what she was referring, but he did not reply immediately. He deliberately took a mouthful of his drink – a cooling, rather pepperminty liquid which was surprisingly refreshing, if not totally pleasant.

Spock swallowed, cleared his throat rather unnecessarily, and then said, ‘I did not say that.’

‘You didn't deny it,’ she pointed out. ‘ _Exquisitely proficient appendages_. What does that mean if it doesn’t mean I have nice hands?’

Was it possible that the faintest flush of green was entering his cheeks?

She held up her hands before him, and, emboldened by triumph, asked him, ‘Mr Spock, do I or do I not have nice hands?’

Again he cleared his throat. Finally he said, ‘Your hands are not displeasing. You – have – quite slender fingers.’

She smiled. And then she said, ‘You invited me back to your quarters for coffee!’

At that he raised an eyebrow, the uncertainty in his face disappearing.

‘I specifically did _not_ invite you for coffee.’

‘Pssh,’ she said, turning her glass in her hands and looking at the liquid within. ‘Coffee, Vulcan – peppermint juice…’

‘ _Kal’var_ ,’ Spock corrected her quietly.

‘Coffee, _kal’var_ ,’ she nodded. ‘What’s the difference?’

Spock opened his mouth, and she knew that he was about to launch into a detailed explanation of the difference between coffee and _kal’var_. But then he closed his mouth again, and simply nodded.

‘You have, as you might say, caught me out, Christine,’ he said in a rather quiet voice, his eyes directly on her, dark and steady. ‘But from the direction of your gaze, always towards my sleeping area, I do not believe that you are a reluctant guest? Unless – ’ and here his voice faltered slightly, ‘you were looking that way because you are simply fatigued?’

She laughed. Oh god, was she _not_ sleepy now! She had never felt so awake.

‘ _Kal’var_ ,’ she said with great purpose, ‘is a very good stimulant, Mr Spock. Now. Would you like to tell me more about my exquisitely proficient appendages?’


End file.
